Too Sexy for his Stetson (26 page)

The black clouds roiled. Thunder rolled in the distance.

“You and Blade seem to have hit it off.” Skip smiled.

At the thought of Blade and their frosty parting earlier, Brandy’s accelerated heartbeat slowed to a thump. “He’s a nice guy.”

“That he is. I’m extremely proud of him.” Coogan’s hardness softened, and Brandy studied his face objectively, considering the weather–worn features of a cop who’d cared enough about a teenage boy to set him on the right path.

“If I’d had a son,” he added, “I would have wanted him to be just like Blade.”

“He’d make any father proud.”

“Turns out I could have had a fine daughter if I’d stuck it out with Amanda.” He reached over to pat her on the knee just as a bolt of lightning sliced the sky and thunder cracked. Brandy jumped.

“Still afraid of thunder storms, Brianna? Don’t be scared,” he soothed. “Looks like the weatherman finally got one right. They predicted a nasty front would move through.”

He took the short drive toward the highway, spun the wheel, and turned… into the marina? In the desolate parking lot, he pulled up to a spot near one of the boathouses. By the time he unlocked the squad car doors, fat drops of rain blatted the windshield.

“What’s going on? I thought we were headed to the evidence storage facility.”

“I decided to stash the lab reports here for safekeeping. Keep the evidence in two different places. Call me paranoid, but…” He shrugged and jumped out.

Cold, hard pellets bit Brandy’s skin as she dashed from the car and followed Skip. Before they made it inside, the sky opened up, a heavenly tantrum. Rain bleated down. Lightning exploded from the churning black clouds.

The boathouse was a small building built onto the pier that was composed of an office as well as a large portal to store Coogan’s cabin cruiser, the
Tequila Sunset.
Once she was inside, Brandy slicked a hand though her dripping hair and shivered. The temperature must have dropped twenty degrees. Some warmth from the early morning sun lingered, yet in the dank, still air, gooseflesh covered her arms, and shivers skimmed her back.

As if she needed anything more to jack up her anxiety, rain bombarded the metal roof like machine gun fire. She fingered her Glock and turned toward a row of framed pictures on one wall behind a desk.

“My place in Acapulco.”

Apparently Officer Coogan was doing okay financially.

Her hand stayed on the butt end of her pistol.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like you to remove your gun.”

Her heartbeat ratcheted up. “I do mind.”

“It’ll be fine. I’ll lock it up in the desk.” He opened the top left–hand desk drawer, removed his pistol and tucked it away. “I don’t usually let anyone—not even my own staff—take their weapons aboard the
Tequila Sunset.
” His smiled oozed sincerity. “I don’t carry aboard either. Superstition.”

“Technically, I’m on duty.” None of the officers Brandy knew went anywhere without their firearms while on duty. “And why would we be boarding your boat?”

“By boat, we can get to the storage facilities in half the time it would take to drive over there.”

She held onto her Glock. He shrugged. “As you wish, my dear.”

Don’t be paranoid. Trust has to start somewhere.

Trust.
Like her mother had trusted the authorities to lock up the weapon that had killed Marilyn Abbot?

No way was Brandy giving up her gun. “So, you’ve got new evidence. Why not go public with it right away?”

“I wanted to give you a chance to see it first. I figure I owe you that much.”

Evidently, she wore her thoughts on her face, because he sighed and said, “Look, I’m not the Boogie Man.” He pulled a photo from the center desk drawer. A picture of a very young Blade. “He was only seventeen the first time I met him. I knew right from the start he was worth saving.” He handed her the picture. “Brianna, I think our futures are going to be linked very closely.”

Trust has to start somewhere.

Her emotions bounced, playing havoc with her nerves. One minute she wondered if she’d walked into a trap. The next she was convinced she was freaking out for no reason, her apprehension unwarranted and her suspicions unfair.

She cradled the grip of the pistol that still rested in the leather holster attached to her belt.

“I’m trying to make amends, Brianna.” His eyes weary, he heaved another sigh and retrieved the photograph, tenderly stroking the curled edge.

Her chest pulled so tight she could barely breathe. A part of her really wanted to open her heart to him. Still, reluctance caused her hand to shimmy as she kept it curved over the Glock.

While Coogan slid the photograph back into the drawer, his cell phone rang.

“Excuse me, I’ll be right back.” Phone to his ear, he stepped out the door into the pouring rain. It struck her as odd that he’d venture into the elements to keep his call private, but it gave her a minute alone.

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t put herself completely at ease with Skip Coogan. As soon as he left, she pushed up her uniform pants leg, dug out her cell phone, and dialed Blade’s number. When he picked up, she simply said, “Stay on the line,” then she tucked the phone back into the top of her soggy black sock. And hoped her battery wouldn’t die.

CHAPTER TWENTY–THREE

B
lade pulled out of the Tour d’Alene parking lot just as Thigpen tapped into the E911 network for a lock on Brandy’s location. At the same moment, Blade got a call from her. “Stay on the line.”

“Brandy, what the hell is going on?”

No reply. He kept the phone to his ear and listened to scraping noises like someone walking across a hard surface.

“The global positioning system is showing your deputy in the vicinity of the Fort Shoshone Marina.” Thigpen watched Blade for a response.

Blade signaled him to hold on. All at once, Skip Coogan’s slightly muffled voice came through. “See that Deputy Wilcox boards the boat safely.”

Then Brandy. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to go onto Lake Shoshone right now. It’s dangerous to be on the lake in weather like this.”

Blade’s breath caught.

“Trust me, the
Tequila Sunset
can handle this. I should think you could barely wait to see the evidence that’ll clear your mother’s name.” Skip chuckled.

Blade swallowed against the tightness in his throat, his insides churning.

“Search her and make sure she’s not carrying any other weapons,” Skip said.

Jesus
. Blade’s heart dropped into his stomach.

“So, I was right about you all along, Coogan.” Brandy’s voice hissed with anger.

“Brilliant deduction, Deputy.”

Blood surged through Blade’s head. No. He refused to believe it. This was crazy.

“You’re nothing but a stinking, dirty cop just like I always thought. What I want to know is why? Why did you frame my mother?”

“Why do you think?”

“Because
you
murdered Marilyn Abbott.”

“It’s a long, complicated story.”

“Too bad your dad and your grandfather aren’t around to see how admirably you’ve carried on the family tradition. They’d be so proud.”

Good. Keep stalling, Brandy
. But it did nothing to stop the sweat forming on Blade’s brow as he flicked his phone to mute, headed the Jeep toward the Interstate, and stomped the gas pedal. They were at least thirty minutes from Lake Shoshone.

“Shut up, Brianna.”

A smacking sound stung Blade’s ears. The bastard had hit her! Blade bit his tongue as nausea crept into his throat and his fist choked the receiver.

“My patience is wearing thin.” Skip again.

Jesus, Skip Coogan is a stinking dirty cop.
As much as Blade wanted to roar into the phone, he kept it muted, clamped back the rage, and continued to monitor the call. Facing Thigpen, he mouthed, “My deputy needs backup. Now! Call it in for me. The Fort Shoshone Marina.”

Thigpen nodded and started texting.

And, God, the estimated thirty minutes to reach the marina was on a good day. In this deluge, it could take… too damned many freaking impossibly long minutes to get to Brandy. He hoped the backup units were closer than he was.

****

Hell and damnation, Coogan had walked back into the boathouse with Daniel Morrisey at his side. Brandy was screwed. With Coogan’s gun aimed at her, she didn’t dare draw if she wanted to keep breathing. God, she hoped Blade had remained on the line and was en route. Stalling wouldn’t work forever, but the longer she kept Coogan engaged, the longer she stayed out of his boat, and the longer she stayed out of creepy Morrisey’s clutches.

“Everyone knows I left the office with you. You’ll never get away with—”

“You’d be surprised what I can get away with.”

Morrisey grinned, and Brandy kept baiting Coogan. “Like murdering the woman you were having an affair with? Someone you supposedly cared about.”

“Marilyn knew too much, and she wouldn’t cooperate.”

“Knew too much about what?”

“None of your damn business.”

“So you obviously killed Secada, too, when he threatened to change his mind about where he was the night Marilyn Abbott was murdered. Was he going to blackmail you?”

Coogan’s eyes narrowed. Jaw clenched, he said, “You’re guessing. And no one’s got anything on me.”

Keep him engaged.

“She’s wasting time, Coogan.” Morrisey’s eyes traveled over Brandy like he was a starved bear sizing up a gourmet dinner.

“It’s over, Coogan. Blade and I pulled a .45 out of the river next to Secada’s body. Secada never got rid of your murder weapon the way he promised, did he? Careless mistake, leaving Morrisey in charge. He never bothered checking Secada’s daypack.”

Coogan’s face flushed red with anger as he turned to Morrisey. “You imbecile.”

“Shit, man, she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Just let me take care of her.”

Coogan’s glare turned steel–hard. He grabbed her, his fingers digging into her shoulders. “So you think you’ve got it all figured out, Deputy? It’s not going to do you a damn bit of good.”

“How much did you pay Secada to get rid of your gun? And when did you discover he’d kept it for insurance?”

“No one can prove anything now that the bastard’s dead.”

The poor, unfortunate bastard who had probably freaked when Attorney Rosenberg started questioning him a couple of weeks ago.

“He tried to milk me for more than he was worth,” Coogan raged. “He got his fair share of the pie. I’m the one who took all the risks.”

All the risks?
“You must have quite the pie.” What in the heck was he mixed up in?

“For years, as a cop, I put my life on the line. I decided I deserved a better pay–off.”

“Yeah,” Morrisey cut in, “if you can’t beat ‘em, join em’.”

“Shut the fuck up, Morrisey.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re wasting my party time, Coogan. You promised I’d get Goldilocks here alone. I think she and I should head over to the cabin before it’s time to take care of the business at the dam.”

“Business at the dam? Oh my God,” Brandy gasped.
Coogan couldn’t possibly be part of a scheme to take out the dam. Could he?
Blade. Poor Blade was getting an earful, and the truth would hit him like a landslide. That was, if he’d stayed on the line and her phone battery hadn’t conked out.

“How could you be a party to destroying the dam and killing hundreds of innocent people?” Or was all of this a masquerade for Morrisey and the NNFF’s benefit? Part of the undercover operation?

“Sometimes collateral damage is necessary.”

She shrugged away from him. “I hope whatever you’re involved in is worth it.”

“Oh, believe me, it is. I’m about to retire to Mexico to live like a king.”

“A murdering king.”

“It’s better than dying a pauper. Like Morrisey says, if you can’t beat ‘em…”

She shook her head in disgust. “Blade’s going to be so proud when he finds out you disgraced your badge for money.”

“He’ll never know. And money, my foolish girl, makes the world go round. In the end, it’s all that matters. It can buy anything your heart desires.” At that moment, Brandy knew, instinctively, that what Coogan had just admitted was the truth. This was the real Coogan.

“Can it buy respect? The kind your father and grandfather had?”

“My old man died a penniless hero. What did respect get him? He never even saw a tropical beach. I own one.”

“You’re sick, Coogan.”

“This is bullshit.” Morrisey grabbed Brandy, locking his arm around her waist. “You gonna’ let this bitch stand here and preach to you all day, Coogan? Let me take care of her like we planned.” He pulled her tight against his sweat–stained shirt and grabbed her Glock from the holster.

“Do a better job than you did with Secada. And make sure she hasn’t got any other weapons hidden on her.”

Morrisey’s disgusting hand skimmed over Brandy’s body, shoulder to crotch. She cringed as he took his time groping. His hands fumbled down her hips, her legs, to her ankles, to the phone in her sock.
Damn.
He yanked the phone free.

“Come on, Blondie, we’re going to the cabin, and the only way to get there is by boat.” Grinning, he dragged her out into the pounding rain and pitched the phone into the lake.

She elbowed him hard in the ribs. He staggered. Swore. Then rebounded and backhanded her. She swayed, and crashed into Coogan, who clamped his arm around her.

Gritting her teeth, she refrained from fighting.
Save your energy. Stall
. There was one thing the creep had missed. The tiniest of Swiss army knives she had tucked in a hidden pocket in the waistband of her trousers.

“When does it end, Coogan? What’s your encore going to be?”

“I think a clever little deputy like you would have already figured that out. Too bad you won’t be around to make use of your stellar investigative skills.” His jaw hardened. “Get rid of her, Morrisey.”

Morrisey shoved her toward the yacht. “Quit yapping. It’s party time.”

Hands clasped together, Brandy jammed her arms sideways and whacked him in the gut. He
oomphed,
and she lunged backward. But there was nowhere to run. Except into the water.